Page 47

“It was a hell of a thing,” Shira mutters. “It would have been a lot easier if I’d had something like that. ” She juts her sharp chin in the direction of the orb.

Again, the circle is quiet. Jaylie can’t think of any other questions to ask, and the others look properly satisfied. Kain is the first to speak. He strikes the butt of his axe loudly on the cobblestones. “Well,” he rumbles. “I suppose we’ll just have to kill him, then, won’t we?”

Loren frowns to himself. “He does deserve it, I think.”

Jaylie blanches. “We’ll want to clear Shira’s name first,” she stresses. “Or they’ll paint us all as the villains of the story.”

Kain bares his teeth in a fanged grin. “I’ve been the villain many times before. It’s made no difference to me, so long as I can sleep at night.”

“Wise words, Kain,” Morgana barks with a laugh. “I’m in.”

Loren rubs his palms together. “Well, then. We’ll need a plan, won’t we?”

Shira ducks her head in one sharp nod. “Of course. Yes. Come with me.”

As the others rush away to begin their preparations, Jaylie stops Alora and draws her to the side. They stand underneath an awning covered in vines raining purple leaves as Jaylie wrings her hands nervously.

“I just want to tell you how sorry I am,” she starts.

Her throat is tight and there’s pressure behind her eyes, making it difficult to continue.

“If I had known what Donati had done to you, if I’d known that you were under that spell…

I would have never gone through with the wedding.

It’s such a sacred ceremony, and I hate that you were forced into it.

However unknowingly, I hate that I played a part in it. ”

Alora reaches forward and clasps Jaylie’s hands in her own. “There is nothing to apologize for, priestess. As you said, you had no idea.” She squeezes Jaylie’s hands comfortingly. “The ceremony was never completed, anyway. We are not married. I am not bound to him.”

Jaylie releases a breath she hadn’t known she was holding, feeling an invisible weight lift from her shoulders. She bows her head over Alora’s hands and presses a brief kiss to her knuckles. “Thank you.”

When she lifts her head again, a small smile curves at the corners of her lips.

“I was thinking, if you ever do desire to be married…Well. I would be honored to bless your marriage. I imagine your allegiances may be with other gods, or you may not wish for it to be me if it would remind you of all that’s happened, but—the offer stands. Should you ever wish it.”

Alora is quiet for some time. She peers upward at the purple vines swaying around them, and when she looks back to Jaylie, her gaze is intent. “How soon could you conduct the ceremony?”

Jaylie blinks. “As soon as you like.”

“Come with me.”

As per Alora’s instructions, Jaylie waits to enter the garden until the moon is at its highest peak in the sky.

On her way down the spiraling stairs of Shira’s tower, she gently knocks against Loren’s door.

The tower is much bigger on the inside than it appears—impossibly so, really—and Shira had gladly provided rooms for each adventurer.

As Jaylie waits for him to answer, she gently cradles a ball of pink light in her cupped hands.

The light illuminates the bard flatteringly when he opens the door wide, seemingly careless of the fact that he wears nothing more than his undergarments. He poses in the doorway, arm propped against the frame, hip jutted out to the side.

“I’ve prayed this day would come,” he says confidently, his voice pitched low. “Are you here to finally answer my prayers, priestess?”

“Marlana’s mercy, Loren,” Jaylie hisses. “No!” She pauses. Considers. Maybe later… “Not now. I need your help with something.”

Loren deflates, but as Jaylie steps close to whisper her plan in his pointed ear, his expression brightens with intrigue.

“…It’s what she wants, but it also means her parents never get to make the choice for her,” she finishes.

“How quickly can you get ready?” Her dark eyes take in Loren’s state of undress, though this time, she lets her gaze linger.

“You’d be surprised by how many times I’ve had to dress quickly to make a grand escape.”

“I don’t think I’d be surprised at all, actually.”

Loren huffs. “Give me a few moments.” And then, teasingly, “Would you like to watch?”

Jaylie rolls her eyes. “Loren, hurry. ”

In an impressively short amount of time, Jaylie and Loren rush down the staircase hand in hand.

Loren has his lute strapped over his shoulder and sports a beautifully embroidered emerald jacket and black dress pants.

Jaylie herself is dressed in her ceremonial robes of peach, pink, and cream.

She steps carefully to keep her garlands of gold coins from clinking noisily as they descend.

When they exit the tower, Jaylie leads Loren through the gardens, following the directions that Alora gave her earlier.

Right at the pond with the water lilies, left at the daffodils, and then right again at the white roses—but the second bunch, not the first, all right? The ones next to the wind chimes.

Finally, they arrive at the curtain of pale purple wisteria that Alora described as the final turn.

Gently, Jaylie pushes the flowers aside and steps into a small, enclosed space.

Between the walls of greenery and the lattice of flowers hanging from above, there’s barely enough room for three people to stand shoulder to shoulder.

Tucked into the center of the square space is a small smooth shrine: a stone bowl of water, an offering of honey and flowers, a mirror, and several lit candles.

The shrine is dedicated to no god in particular, but the ritual materials are there, available for anyone who needs a moment to pray.

Alora and Shira stand before the shrine, and they both turn as Jaylie and Loren approach.

Silver moonlight catches in the dark strands of Shira’s hair, newly cut and woven into a complex braid sprinkled with pale white flowers.

She wears a black dress with embroidery of such a dark purple that it’s difficult to pick out the patterns.

Alora wears none of the lace or frills that Jaylie had seen at her wedding with Donati.

Instead, she’s fashioned tulle and silk into the shapes of flowers that flow down the back of her white skirt.

Both women look at Jaylie with wide eyes, as if they’re two teenagers caught kissing in the garden hours after dark.

Jaylie smiles softly. “Are you ready?”

“I think so,” Shira says. Her tone is nervous and light, void of its usual deep, commanding growl.

“Yes.” Alora’s voice is so full of warmth that Jaylie’s heart aches just to hear it.

Shira asks, “What do we need to do?”

At Jaylie’s nod, Loren positions himself behind her and begins to pluck lightly at his lute.

It’s a gentle song, and at first, Jaylie can barely pick out the melody.

But as the song flows from his fingers—light and tender, soft and sweet—she breathes out a peaceful, happy sigh.

Even Shira’s shoulders ease, falling from where they were hunched nervously at her ears. Alora’s eyes sparkle with unshed tears.

“Now,” Jaylie says quietly, “I will cast the ritual spell, and Loren will pay witness. But this promise you are about to make—it is between you two and no one else. We will not hear the vows you speak, but you will be bound to them nonetheless.” Hours before, when Jaylie had planned everything out with Alora and Shira, they had both stressed their desire for as private a ceremony as possible.

None of the pomp, frills, or spectacle of Donati’s wedding—just the two of them and the love they shared, as it had been between them since the beginning. “Join hands, please,” Jaylie murmurs.

As Loren’s music swells, Jaylie removes a ribbon of coins from around her waist and begins to bind Shira’s and Alora’s hands together, palm to palm.

With each loop of the ribbon, gold and pink magic swells from where their hands touch.

A sphere of light blooms between the women, expanding until just the two of them are bound in a bubble of gold.

The light catches on Shira’s jewelry and on the subtle pattern of dragon scales underneath Alora’s skin.

Jaylie smiles, ties the knot across Alora’s knuckles, and nods.

Haltingly, Shira begins to speak, her eyes darting sidelong toward Jaylie and Loren.

Jaylie watches her lips move, but she can hear nothing other than Loren’s playing, the tinkling of a far-off fountain, and the chirping of crickets in the distance.

Shira’s eyes widen with realization, and when she turns back to Alora, her expression is earnest.

Jaylie cannot tell for how long they speak.

Time passes strangely within the influence of the spell, and the small space feels charged with emotion and divinity.

Slowly, Jaylie takes a few steps back until she stands at Loren’s side.

She allows her head to fall onto his shoulder as he plays, though she never takes her gaze from the couple as they make their vows.

Though Jaylie does not know what promises they make to each other, at the end, there is one phrase she recognizes as it flows from Alora’s lips.

I love you, she says. I love you and I love you and I love you.